


The Coldest City's Only Truth

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: Atomic Blonde (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Delphine Lasalle Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Rectal foreign body, Unusual Weapons Concealing, and so does Percival the wee cocksucker, bannedtogetherbingo2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: In a reality in which things went just a little differently and neither Delphine nor her killer ended up dead, Lorraine Broughton and David Percival are in trouble.
Relationships: Delphine Lasalle/Lorraine Broughton/David Percival
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	The Coldest City's Only Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fill for the BannedTogetherBingo2020 prompt "Unusual Weapons Concealing" - what with body cavity searches in pop culture and all that, you really can't blame me for where my mind went with this one. 
> 
> Beta-ed by... me, myself and I. Feel free to point out any grammar or spelling errors!

For what was not the first time in the entire two years since Berlin’s Mauerfall, Lorraine Broughton and David Percival were in trouble.

The Russian guard leaning against the wall across from them spat on the floor of the abandoned warehouse they were being held in. Quietly, he grumbled under his breath, something about a rat’s arse and the fucking Brits.

Sometimes, Lorraine wished she hadn’t been so eager to learn every Russian swear word she had been able to scrounge up during her recruitment days.

“Did you bring what I told you to bring?” she leaned over to whisper when the guard scratched his nose and turned his head, distractedly listening to a few pigeons curr in the ceiling’s beams above them.

David Percival snorted. “Of course. Who do you think I am, a bloody beginner?”

“Can you access it?”

“Well...” Percival shot a telling glance at the zip ties securing his wrists to an iron ring far, far above his head. “Not really.”

Lorraine groaned lowly. “Where’d you put it then?”

Percival shot yet another telling glance – at his crotch, this time.

When Lorraine licked her lips before breaking into laughter, she tasted blood. “Percival, you _s_ _lut_.”

The Russian guard turned back at the sound and stalked over to them, meaningfully weighing his baton in his hand and bellowing in heavily accented English, “Silence, goats!”

Her fellow agent just ground out, “It’s fucking _Berlin_ , Broughton. You work with what you’ve got.”

Then, he didn’t get to say much more, because the baton was crashing into his cheekbones and sending him toppling over to the floor – or rather as far as his restraints would let him.

Lorraine sighed and batted her eyelashes at the guard. Maybe this would spare her the black eye.

It didn’t.

One bloodied nose on her part and lots of rather colourful swear words on Percival’s part later, Lorraine found she was getting tired of the whole situation.

Apparently, so was the guard. He had wandered off to the other side of the hall, secure in the knowledge that there was no way they would be able to undo their restraints. The crackling of a two-way radio and the impatient growling of his voice reached them just so.

“Any new developments on the secret-weapon front?” Lorraine asked.

Percival beside her shifted uncomfortably. Moaned. “It’s poking… _places_.”

“Dear god,” she mumbled.

His only answer was spitting a clot of blood onto the cracked concrete. And if she was to be honest, she very much agreed.

Soon after, there was a commotion by the side door. The shouts of men rang through the silence, and then – gunshots.

Percival perked up at the same time as the guard reached for his own weapon and started hurrying towards them. “Knight in shining armour or just another vulture to come pick at our sorry remains?” mused the British agent.

“You get poetic when you’re in pain,” Lorraine remarked and watched the Russian approach.

“Well, can you blame me?” Percival snarked back, then whooped when Lorraine caught the guard unawares and kicked him in the balls.

The man went down like a felled tree, and Lorraine’s heels were slamming into his ribcage faster than he could say “Tovarish.” Curling up protectively, he stumbled right between Percival’s spread legs.

“This is for the blood on my leather jacket, you fucking communist,” snarled the Brit and hooked his knee around the guard’s neck in a stranglehold.

Lorraine just smiled and enjoyed the view as the Russian choked between Percival’s deliciously thick thighs. Only at the clacking of heels on the concrete floor did she look up.

“Did you get them all, darling?” she asked Delphine, who was standing there before them, looking mildly dishevelled and just a tad bit out of breath.

The French agent shot her that utterly disarming grin of hers. “Of course. After all, I’ve learned from the best.”

Lorraine smirked. Percival beside her spluttered. “Wait, she _knew_ we were here?”

“I might have tipped her off before we set out.” With a snap, Lorraine’s restraints broke under the blade of Delphine’s pen-knife, and she groaned when the blood rushed back into her fingertips. Gratefully, she accepted the woman’s hand to help her up – “Thank you, my dear.” – then leaned in for a deep, sensual kiss.

Delphine was blushing adorably when they drew apart. “Anything for you, mon amour,” she muttered.

There came the clearing of a throat from the floor. “Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind...” Percival nodded to the zip ties around his wrists.

Delphine giggled and leaned down to give him a pat on his horrible Sinéad O’Connor hair before unsheathing her blade once more. “Pauvre chéri.”

Cigarettes, lighter… Lorraine went to pat down the guard until she found what had been confiscated from her, then lit herself a grit. The bitter smoke was searing in her cold lungs.

“Let’s clear out.”

After their wounds were dressed and the information their reconnaissance had heeded was on its way to the right people, they retreated onto Delphine’s bed.

“Then why did you have me shove a scalpel _and_ a transmitter up my arse if you well knew this was just another fucking exercise for your bloody rookie?” Percival hissed from the head end.

Lorraine passed him the bottle of vodka they had successfully liberated from one of the Russians’ vehicles and huffed when he downed a whole fourth of it. “Oh, I just needed something to laugh at.”

“Oh, _fuck you_ , Broughton.”

“But _I_ am already doing that,” Delphine purred as she sauntered over and came to kneel down on the mattress, camera in hand. “Souriez! Smile!”

Lorraine pouted. Percival scowled, and then the flash went off.

“You should trade the camera for a gun more often, darling,” Lorraine told her French partner and took another drag of the cigarette.

“If it involves me storing weapons up my arse,” Percival growled, “then no, you really shouldn’t.”

She crawled over to him until she could put her cool lips to his and blow the cigarette smoke right into his lungs. “Oh, don’t be a crybaby,” she whispered when she drew back.

The smile which flitted over his features was fleeting, but there without a doubt. Still, he put the vodka bottle down on the bedside table and slipped under the covers to bed his head onto Lorraine’s lap. “’m going to sleep. Too tired to handle you two this evening,” he said. “You two can entertain yourselves.”

Delphine sighed and leaned against Lorraine’s other side. Together, they watched Percival’s eyes flutter shut and the heaving and slanting of his chest even out.

Mindful of the maladies the Brit could drag into their bed, they had taken to keeping him on a tight leash and making sure he didn’t sleep around any more. Of course, he moaned and complained about it every chance he got. But both Lorraine and Delphine knew that really, he secretly liked it – being desired so intensely they would go to such lengths. Their golden boy.

“These relationships aren’t real,” Delphine whispered into Lorraine’s hair when her own eyelids began to droop.

In well-practised harmony, Lorraine murmured back, “Except this one is.” Then, she bussed a kiss against her lover’s hairline and tucked her securely under the covers.

In the months since they had entered this ménage à trois, they had repeated those lines to themselves over and over again, until it had become real.

Until it had become the only truth they knew, here in Berlin – their Coldest City.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! If you did, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It doesn't have to be anything elaborate, just a "+kudos" or a "loved it!" would make my day!!! It means so much to an author to see people take the time to actually type out words instead of simply hitting one (1) button, and it's a very easy way to make us writers - who dedicate so much of our free time to create content for you - happy!


End file.
